What I Wouldn't Do
by NinjaMatty
Summary: Nile/Levi - What if Levi had jointed the Military Police instead of the Scouting Legion?


In my head cannon, Levi didn't have a name until he met Erwin. He will be referred only as 'boy'.

Some original characters will be added for plot's sake. I might have taken names for these characters from diverse books I love.

Please keep in mind while reading that English is not my first language and that nobody proofread this text.

* * *

Letters from home aren't exactly a rarity amongst the recruits, but it always seems to be a kind of unprecedented event whenever one of the young people received a package from outside the army. Everybody would crowd around the youngster to try to peer at the letter and guess at its content. Usually, it is from close family sharing news. Those letters are never very interesting yet the other trainees wanted to peek at it nonetheless.

Erwin never received letters from home. In fact, in the two years and a half he had been a trainee in the army, he hasn't received a single news from home. For all he knows, his parents could be dead, the house burned down and the whole property destroyed. Mike, however, often receives letters from his father, and it is the only way Erwin has to get some news about home. Nile suffers from the same affliction. Apparently, his father never really approved of his joining the army and while they haven't parted in anger, father and son haven't been on good terms ever since.

So it is kind of a shock when the mail arrives and a letter is given to Nile by one of the orderly. Nile himself appears surprised and has to read his name twice on the envelope to be certain he hasn't been given someone else's letter. When he is given the white envelope, Erwin and Mike, who have been sitting on each side of him at one of the long tables in the mess hall, unconsciously lean towards him to peer at the writing. They can't tell by the writing alone, but they can tell by their friend's expression that he has no idea who has sent this letter. It seems as if he doesn't recognize the writing. Mike's curiosity blooms faster than Erwin's. To him, the looping writing looks a bit feminine. He's never seen a man writes with such loops and flourish. He grins, wide mouth opening to reveal white teeth. His greyish-blue eyes light up with mischief and, bold as you please, he tries to pluck the letter from Nile's hands. Nile just barely manages to keep the piece of paper out of the reaching hand. He elbows Mike away from him.

"Stop that, you big idiot!" Nile exclaims, glaring at his so-called friend.

"Who's that letter from?" Mike asks, still grinning like a loon. "Your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend!" Nile retorts back, face turning bright red as if his friend had said something inappropriate.

All the while, Erwin looks at them with the kind of tolerant smile a parent might have towards two bickering children. It is a regular thing, Mike and Nile arguing over the smallest of things. Those two are like oil and water, they can never get along no matter what. Erwin usually finds himself sitting back and smiling at their antics until one of them asks him to interfere. And he knows best than to choose side.

Still red in the face, Nile manages to tear open the envelope at one end. He slides the letter out and unfolds it. As soon as he does, both Erwin and Mike lean in again to read over his shoulder. The writing is the same as the one on the envelope. It only says: 'Your father is sick. Come back home. G.'

"Nile, I'm sorry…" Erwin begins as he sees his friend pales at the news.

Mike looks a bit uncomfortable, feeling foolish at having made fun of Nile. He tries to look sympathetic, but Nile doesn't even look at him. He only stares at the letter in his hands as if he can't read the words. Erwin knows Nile can read perfectly well, and he guesses his friend is probably shocked by the news. Nobody likes to hear that their father is sick after all. Before he can commiserate more, Nile is on his feet and out the mess hall in a second. Erwin and Mike glance at each other but make no move to follow their friend. If Nile wishes to go home, he has to get permission first. Trainees need very good reason to be allowed off the camp outside their days off after all. The trainers and superior officers are usually understanding and Erwin feels sure that Nile will be allowed to go home to see his sick father. He only hopes that the news his friend gets when he arrives home won't be too bleak.

* * *

If there is one good thing about winter is the fact that cold masks smells very well. Usually, the slums can be smelled from miles away. The mix odours of human wastes, decaying flesh, wet concrete and forgotten trashcans is always overpowering, especially at the height of summer with the sun beating down on the darkest corner of the kingdom. In winter, everything freezes over, even the dead bodies lying bloated in cesspools and dark alleys.

But the poor look even more miserable in winter. There are houses in the slums, of course, but they are usually so run down that they can hardly be considered as shelters. There is no glass at the windows to block out the wind and no wood to be burned in hearths. So people gather outside around fires lit inside metal trashcans, warming their hands near the flames and huddling close for some warmth. They look haggard with their greyish skin and soulless eyes. They wear all their clothes since they can't afford proper winter coats and the rags hang on their bony bodies; dirty, smelly and tattered. If anything, they look more like animals than actual human beings.

Nile has grown up around these parts, yet after spending three years away to train with the army, he feels as if he has completely forgotten what the slums are really like. He wonders, as he always does whenever he visits, how he managed to stand such stench and desolation. To be honest, he was never really part of this sorry lot. His father and he lived a bit more comfortably a few streets away from the slums in a tiny house, austere but clean. Yet, due to his father's job, he has spent a lot more time in the slums than elsewhere. His father liked to harass the beggars, prostitutes and destitute, thinking throwing rocks and insults at them would convince them to change their way. Nile doubts it had ever helped anybody, but as a child he had had to tag along nonetheless, pretending to agree with his father and throwing rocks half-heartedly. He remembers how he hated to follow his father to the slums, how he dreaded the dead-eyed beggars and painted scary prostitutes. But there had been no refusing his father when he was in the throes of righteous passion so Nile had to follow meekly.

Nonetheless, there had been one good side to these outings; he had met _that_ boy years ago. And it is that boy now that is sick and not his father.

The boy lives in a whorehouse with whores, something Nile hates, but it is better than living directly on the streets. The kid is independent despite being only thirteen so he's never really asked for Nile's help, but Nile knew that a time might come when his help might be needed. And so, putting his misgivings to the side, he has asked of the woman running the whorehouse to send for him should something happen to the boy. Of course, Nile wouldn't have been allowed to leave the training camp for a sick friend, so it is why the woman, Gillis, had written that it was his father who was sick. It was a better excuse to leave, and the superior officers had allowed him a three-day leave. Nile feels a bit bad for lying, but he knows he could never continue with his training if he knew the boy was sick.

He walks quickly the familiar dilapidated streets of the slums, hugging his jacket against the cold. The wind bites at his cheeks and whips his black hair in every direction. It is bitterly cold and he misses the warm fire of the mess hall and the companionship of his friends. The slums always look so dreary during winter; grey and cold and broken. There is no beauty here, nothing to look at except dull stones and white faces. There are people on the streets despite the cold, of course, and they barely glance at Nile as he walks by. One glimpse of his brown jacket and they know better than to mess with him. The poor don't trust military men, as the Military Policemen tend to brutalize them.

Around him, the buildings and houses are crowded together and their front porches are lighted by one red lantern. Once again, Nile is astonished by the sheer number of whorehouses in the slums. There is a whole block of them, mostly cheap places with women who look like corpses rather than the beautiful courtesans rich people are used to. Some of these women are on the streets right now, smoking and shaking in the cold and smiling at him. Nile blushes at the attention and does his best to avoid their eyes. He is always uncomfortable around such people. He never knows how to act and he feels weird knowing he isn't interested by them. His friends, Mike and Erwin, especially Mike, are always talking about whores and what they want to do to them. All the boys, really, fancy one whore or the other. But not Nile. If anything, he only feels pity towards these badly-dressed women. Even the courtesans he's sometimes glimpsed don't look happy despite their beautiful clothes and expensive jewellery. He doesn't understand why men like women who can't refuse them.

Finally, the only whorehouse he's interested in comes into view. It doesn't look better or worse than any other surrounding it, yet Nile fancies it looks a bit less dilapidated. Still, looking at the rotten wood and crumbling brickwork of the building, he worries about the boy living inside. Drafts must find their way between the wooden planks to chill the whole interior. Nile has never set foot inside this house. He's never even walked up the three stairs to the mouldy front porch. Ridiculously, he feels as if he might get somehow corrupted if he so much as touch one brick of a whorehouse. Nevertheless, he is ready to put aside his disdain for a few hours to help his friend. That boy is more important than anything after all.

Nile stands awkwardly on the curb, fumbling inside his jacket for his cigarettes. The pack is full and he takes one stick, lights it and heaves a sigh of relief as soon as he feels the smoke burning down his throat. He knows he's going to give the whole pack to the boy so he might enjoy one last cigarette before he gets the chance to buy more. As he smokes, Nile looks around. There are a few people loitering about but they don't take notice of the lone young man. Nile feels embarrassed to be seen so near a whorehouse, but there is no helping it. At least it isn't night yet and the street isn't full of greedy customers chasing skirts. He flicks the butt of his cigarette to the cobblestones, having gathered as much courage as possible. He squares his shoulders, marches up the steps and knocks with the side of his fist on the door.

The wood of the door creaks under the assault. Nile takes a step back, wiping his hand absentmindedly against his trousers. Does one knock before entering a whorehouse, anyway? He has no idea but it kind of would feel wrong to simply barge in. He isn't a disgusting man looking for a woman after all. He is a respectable soldier looking after a friend. Nervously, he glances over his shoulder towards the street, afraid someone he knows might pop out of nowhere, recognize him and run to tell everybody that he's seen Nile walking inside a whorehouse. If anything, his reputation amongst the other trainees would benefit from such a rumour. Nile is kind of the laughing stock of the trainee squad since he doesn't chase women whenever he has a free minute. Still, he prefers to be labelled as a loser rather than as a disrespectful womanizer like Mike. Thankfully however, Nile doesn't know any of the desolate-looking men and women pacing the street.

The door finally swings open to reveal a red-haired tall woman. She is dressed in a tattered greenish dress that is surprisingly modest enough considering her profession. Her hair is in disarray and she looks as if she had just woken up. There is a long narrow cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. She eyes Nile for a second with suspicion before realisation dawns on her. She smiles, revealing missing front teeth and bloody gums.

"We were taking bets on how long it'd take for you to come,'' she says in the common burr of the slums. "You were faster than we all expected!''

Nile has no idea what to answer to that. Prostitutes are always ridiculously friendly with men and it makes him uncomfortable. He knows how to act polite towards women and to keep his distance, but it is almost impossible to do with a prostitute. He looks down at the worn planks of the porch, knowing his face must be red.

"So hm, can I see him?''

She grins, obliviously amused by his distress. He steals a glance at her face and is relieved to notice that she isn't teasing him out of meanness. She's just being friendly. She nods and waves him inside. Nile freezes for a second, realising that he is about to set foot inside a whorehouse for the very first time in his life. He doesn't rejoice at the idea at all like most men would. In fact, he almost wants to ask the woman to bring the boy out if she can. Then he realises it would be ridiculous; if the boy is sick it's better if he stays in bed after all. So Nile sighs, glances heavenwards for some sort of courage before stepping inside the shadowy entrance hall.

The inside of the house smells of mold, wet wood, woman perfume, cheap food and some other odours Nile doesn't care to identify. It is a bit cleaner than he expected though, and he finds some comfort in that fact. Diseases lurk in dirtiness and he doesn't want to bring any kind of illness back at the training camp. He follows the woman down the narrow hallway. The floorboards creak underneath his boots. There are half-open doors on each side of the corridor but the interior is too dark for Nile to catch a glimpse of anything. Despite being quite bright outside, the inside of the house is ridiculously gloomy. He sees sconces with candles on the walls but they haven't been lit, probably to save money. Yet it gives a creepy atmosphere, especially with the creaking boards and the eerie silence of the rest of the building. Nile guesses the house must be livelier at night when there are customers coming. At this time of the day, most women must be asleep in their rooms.

They reach the back of the house where they step into a small living room. Here at least there are candles burning and a tiny fire has been lit. It chases away the dampness and gloom. The room isn't very big and sports only two sitting chairs that have seen better days, a low coffee table and an empty bookshelf covered with dust. There is a mice-eaten red carpet on the floor that might have once been beautiful and thick, and thin curtains of the same colour covering a lone narrow window.

On one of the chairs is sitting the owner of the whorehouse and the only woman working here whose name Nile knows. Gillis Duncan sits quite primly as if she were some kind of grand lady, holding a teacup and saucer daintily in her white hands. Contrary to the red-haired woman, she looks less disheveled. She is no beauty, of course. Beautiful prostitutes leave the slums as soon as they can, leaving the ugly and old behind. Still, despite her rather plain appearance Gillis manages to be somewhat attractive with her charming manners.

She smiles at Nile when he walks in, green eyes sparkling. She lays down her cup and saucer before motioning for Nile to sit on the chair opposite hers. He does a bit reluctantly after glancing with disgust at the stained upholstery. The chair creeks beneath his weight but he is far too tense to care much about the damaged furniture. He sits with his back straight and hands balled into fists on his knees. He doesn't want to be sitting here. He wants to see his friend to make sure he is alright. Still, it wouldn't be polite to simply walk out of the room. Gillis is under no obligation to be nice to him, yet she's sent Nile a letter nonetheless. He owes her to be at least courteous. She is, after all, the only other person who seems to care for the boy.

"Good day, handsome,'' she says, still smiling.

Like him, she sits with her back straight and her hands neatly folded in her lap. Nile doesn't like to be called by anything else but his name, but he guesses she is only teasing him. Gillis has the uncanny ability to guess people's pet peeves and to use them against them.

"Thank you for sending me this letter,'' Nile begins honestly. "I appreciate it. I came as soon as I could. What's wrong with him?''

"Despite the fact that he's a thirteen-year-old prostitute who seems to attract the wrong kind of customers? Nothing.''

Nile looks at her, confused. In the letter, she wrote that his father was sick, so he had assumed that the boy might be sick. What else could be so urgent?

"Why have you sent for me, then?''

Gillis sighs, as if Nile is being dense on purpose. "I'd hoped you'd have done something by now, but it seems you're as naïve as you look. Listen here, soldier; I kinda like that boy of yours, although I've no idea why. I guess it's because we women all feel safer when he's around. It's kinda stupid to feel safe because of a kid, but you know how he's. He's a fierce little thing and he's kicked out quite a few unsavoury customers. I can appreciate it. And maybe it's also my motherly instincts that I thought didn't exist that are kicking in, who knows. The thing is, this kid ain't gonna last long if he stays in the slums. As I said, he always attracts asshole customers who hurt him. I know he can handle a lot, but he's human despite what he seems to believe. It ain't my place to step in. He doesn't actually work for me, he only lives here. Still, I'd hate to find him dead in an alleyway someday.''

"What do you want me to do?'' Nile asks, a bit bewildered by Gillis' speech. "Is he okay right now?''

"Yeah, I guess. He's sleeping I think. That's a good thing, I don't want him to hear this conversation. I want you to take him in.''

"What do you mean, take him in? You want him to join the army? He isn't old enough yet.''

Gillis spears him with an annoyed look. "Are you playing dumb on purpose? That ain't what I meant. I don't ever want to see this kid in a military uniform. He's better than those Military Police pigs that always harass us. No, take him in, as in having him live with you. You gonna graduate soon, ain't you?''

"Y-yes, next month, but that doesn't mean I'll be living on my own. I'll be living in the barracks with the other soldiers. We can't have anybody over.''

She sighs and shakes her head, sending her long blond hair flying. "Men, you're all the same. Can't think by yourselves. I know all that, boy. There's a way though. Did you know that married soldiers have bigger pays?''

Nile stares blankly at her.

She adds: "Oh, for fuck's sake, do you want me to spell it out for you?! Marry the poor kid, bloody hell. If you do, you'll have a bigger pay. I'm willing to keep him here as long as you can pay for his rent and for his food. So you can stay in your barracks and do your military stuff.''

Nile is quite glad to be sitting, otherwise he might just have crumpled to the ground in shock. He stares at the woman with wide eyes, mouth hanging open in shock. He tries to say something but nothing comes out. The words Gillis just said echo in his mind. Marry the poor kid. Nile's heart swells in his chest at the mere thought of it. It would be a horrible lie to say that he'd never dreamed about such a thing. His crush for his friend has been present deep inside his heart for as long as he can remember, so of course he fanaticizes about marriages and such things. Yet secretly dreaming something and hearing it mentioned out loud are two very different things. His face turns red and he looks down, utterly embarrassed. Does Gillis mention this merely because it is probably the only viable choice, or because she is aware of his crush? Those green eyes of her appear to miss little, so he wouldn't be surprised if she had guessed.

"He's thirteen, he's old enough to marry legally,'' Gillis adds, like another nail to the coffin.

"He'd never agree to such a thing…'' Nile breathes out slowly.

She shrugs. "I don't think he'd refuse. If he does, it's merely out of pride. I'm pretty sure you can talk him into it.''

"T-that wouldn't be right! Couldn't we simply wait until I have enough money to rent an apartment? He could live there and –''

"Absolutely not,'' Gillis cuts, eyes flashing. "I may like the boy, but I'm still a businesswoman. He has a huge debt. He ain't leaving until it's paid.''

Nile stares at her, wondering if this woman is the same one from two minutes ago who had come up with a plan to help a child.

"If you marry him and he lives here, you'd be paying his debt for him.''

"How much does he owe you?''

"Two thousand pounds.''

Nile feels like he's doing been nothing but staring in shock at that woman ever since he stepped inside this tiny living room. Two thousand pounds is a lot of money, much more than most people would see in their entire life. It's about what the commander of the Military Police earns in a year. How did a boy of thirteen managed to rake up such a debt?!

"Are you kidding me?'' Nile manages to ask after a few seconds of shocked silence.

"No. This boy of yours, he's a bit of trouble when he wants to be. I've had to grease a few paws so he wouldn't get in trouble, that's all.''

"I'd have to be commander of the bloody Military Police to repay you such money!''

Gillis shrugs. "Then work hard and become the commander. Or take my offer.''

"That's beyond ridiculous! I-I can't marry someone, just like that!''

"What, you wanna marry out of love? You're in love with that boy, that's as easy to see as the nose in the middle of the face, idiot. You're a good man, you're kind, you're handsome and you're hard-working. That boy's gonna fall head over heels for you too someday, I'm sure.''

He wants to believe her, but somehow the thought of that boy being in love with Nile seems hardly plausible. He looks down, gripping the fabric of his trousers in his balled fists.

"Then you can take him legally to your bed,'' she adds with a small smile.

"That's not what I want!'' Nile retorts angrily, face red.

"I know, boy. You'd have done so long before otherwise.''

"So that's why you've summoned me here? To tell me about this plan of yours?''

"Yeah. I worry about the kid. There's only so much someone can take after all. He ain't cut out for this line of work.''

"I see…'' Nile whispers although he sees nothing at all. "I'll think about this idea. I have to admit it makes some kind of sense…''

"Of course it does, boy. Now, if you wanna see your future wife, he's in his room upstairs. Men usually aren't allowed in that part of the house, but I'll make an exception for you. Can't resist a handsome young lad like yourself and I'd hate myself for standing in the path of true love.''


End file.
